Captain Apollo, remember that? I'm so happy for him now. He stands in the Briefing Room, remembers meeting after meeting and tactic after tactic, showdowns and psych-outs, drawing lines between friendship and command, between the dead and the still-fighting, Kara being a dick too early in the morning. Saying goodbye to Captain Apollo.
Athena escorts Lee into the hangar, with his bags, and out of sight there's Helo's voice, calling everyone to attention; Lee looks to Athena and she shrugs, grinning. It's a surprise sendoff. Even Laura and Tory are there. Everyone's in dress uniforms, leather sashes and spit-shined shoes. And Colonel Tigh, that old poet, explains why Lee Adama's my very favorite of them all.
"In recognition of honorable, loyal, and faithful service, Madam President, Admiral of the Colonial Fleet, ladies and gentlemen: Major Lee Adama. Salute!" They do. Lee, tears standing at attention in his eyes, returns their salute one last time, and Helo begins the applause. Lee works his way down the line, shaking hands and embracing his fellows. With their arms around each other, Helo quietly wishes him good luck. Dualla steps up to him, presenting him with a framed plaque celebrating his service, his insignia on a velvet field. He searches her eyes out, and in them is apology and acceptance and love without need. He thanks her, and with a wry smile says, "Well, it looks like you got the house." She finally smiles back, and it's like something coming open that never needed to be locked. "I'll miss you," he says, and she tells him goodbye. Finally, finally goodbye. Do you think she knows? How she led him here? How she reminded him, as she reminded his father so long ago, of his true responsibilities? Romo Lampkin and Anastasia Dualla made a man of Lee Adama, taught him to be good but not too good, how to temper his values with love, and to remember his people. She's sent him on this mission, to remake the system, this gang on the run without rules or thoughts beyond survival. She did that. I think he knows, he must: she tossed him out and called him out, and now he's off to become a man. "Look after yourself," he says, and then the cheering swells, and the Admiral embraces his son, and the pieces finally fit.
THE HALF DOZEN, AND THE OTHER
(In which Raiders are Desecrated, Tory Foster's Algorithms fail her utterly, and both Natalie and Adama choose unthinkable Alternatives.)
On the Basestar, the Fours are drilling holes into the brains of creatures too loving and dumb to understand or protest what's being done. You sing them to sleep, Raiders; when they're nervous or afraid you sing to them. And when they die, their last thought is of fear, and pain; and when they're reborn, it's all they can think of. Happy little warriors.